Keep Your Eyes Open
by FraidyCat
Summary: Sequel to The Eyes Have It and Windows of the Soul. Part 3 Eye Series.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Keep Your Eyes Open (Part 3, Eye Series) 

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Genre: Drama, Angst**

**Time line: Sequel to "The Eyes Have It", "Windows of the Soul"**

**Summary: Charlie's eyes are opened — will his heart be closed?**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.**

**Chapter 1**

Larry stood in the doorway of Charlie's office and smiled fondly at his friend. "I must say, Charles, I was rather surprised at your choice of vacation, but it seems to have agreed with you. You're looking much more relaxed. In such a short time, as well."

Charlie, who had been tilted back in his desk chair, thinking about Amy, crashed back to the floor. "Larry! You startled me."

The older man laughed. "I see that. Perhaps you are not quite ready to return to work?"

Charlie grinned. "I'm fine. Slept several consecutive hours, last night, I actually feel pretty good."

Larry entered the room and took the chair opposite Charlie's desk, frowned a little. "Am I to assume from this that your sleeping pattern as of late has been disruptive?"

Charlie considered. This could be part of his homework, to be completed before he could call Amy again. Start talking to people. "Since the shooting, yes. I've had a lot of nightmares. Well, just one recurring one, actually."

"That long? Charles, I'm disturbed to hear that. It goes a long way toward explaining your uncharacteristic terseness, since you returned to work."

Had he been that bad? "I'm sorry about that, Larry. I didn't realize how much it all affected me, I guess."

Larry waved a hand. "Not at all, my friend. I just regret that we have been unable to help in this matter."

Charlie decided to change the subject. There had been no agreement about _how long_ he would talk. "So. How was your holiday hike?"

Larry smiled again. "Quite pleasant, I think. Megan is a joy to be around, and Amita's Mark seems very attentive to her. I did wish that you could have joined us, however. I look forward to the day your leg is strong enough for another of our hikes."

"How about my Dad? He didn't say a lot about it…not that he's had much time. Don and I pretty much monopolized the conversation, and then crashed." He grinned. "Don was up half of the night before winning the ship poker tournament. He fell asleep on the couch right after dinner, and he was still there when I got up this morning."

"Indeed? I'm sure he'll feel the effects of that."

"No doubt. So Dad and the picnic?"

"I'm reasonably certain that Alan enjoyed himself…although Donna did seem a tad put off by the concept of an outdoor experience."

Donna? "Who's Donna?"

Larry raised an eyebrow. "I believe you and Don refer to her as 'The Caterer'."

She had a name? Who knew? Charlie was still trying to envision The Caterer with a name when there was a brief rap on the open door, and he looked up to see Amita.

"You look rested," she observed. "Nice cruise?"

Charlie smiled. "Surprisingly so. Larry was just telling me about your hike."

She dimpled. "I enjoyed that, and the picnic after. Your father's friend is an incredible cook. She brought some very exotic dishes."

"Well, she _is_ The Caterer…"

Amita laughed. "She has a name, Charlie."

"So Larry was just informing me."

She looked at the clock over his head. "I have a class, but I want to hear all about the cruise. Can we have lunch?"

"We all have class. This is a university." Charlie stood and grabbed his backpack off the floor behind him, and his two friends smiled at the light tone they had missed. "Yes on lunch." He guided them all out the door. "Join us, Larry?"

"I'm afraid that I can't, today. I promised a student some extra preparation time, and my office hours are already full."

"Finals," they all said at once, and continued down the corridor. .

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Amita carefully replaced her glass of water on the table. "You're kidding."

She wasn't smiling. Her face did not reflect pleasure at all. Just disbelief…and something else Charlie couldn't quite name. As always, things he didn't understand made him nervous, and he felt his own smile slip.

"No…I'm not."

She looked at the glass, turned it around in a circle. Looked back at him. "You understand that this is crazy, right?"

Okay, not nervous anymore. Angry, now. "Why? Because I just met her? How long was the physics convention where you met Mark?"

She lowered her voice, hoping it would make him lower his. "We talked for hours — there, on the phone, e-mail — all before our first date. It's not the same."

"Why not? Amy and I talked for hours, too. Face-to-face."

He speared another piece of chicken, looked at it awhile and then laid the fork down on the edge of the plate. "I don't understand what you're so upset about. It's not like I married her on the ship. We're not even going to see each other for at least a week."

She tore at the pita almost viciously, refused to look at him. "I'm not upset. I'm just surprised one of the most brilliant men I know is acting…acting on a whim, off a cruise high, or something…"

He stared at her. "Amita, you haven't even met her."

"And you ran off on a cruise you didn't want to go on, just to keep from meeting Mark."

How did she know that? Maybe it was a stab in the dark. Maybe it was a stab to his back. "I needed a vacation, I know you've noticed that as much as everybody else."

"But a cruise? G-d Charlie, did you have to check your brain at the pier? I know if Mark and I hadn't been there, you would have gone hiking with Larry. You love hiking."

That was enough. Charlie stood up. He looked down at her. "You know, Amita, if you ever got your head away from your physics lab and Mark anymore, you might have noticed that I was shot a few weeks ago. I love sleeping at night, too, but that doesn't mean I've been able to do much of it lately."

She stood up to face him, oblivious of the diners staring in their direction. She opened her mouth, closed it again, finally reached into her pocket and threw a $10 on the table. "Don't bother to walk me back to campus," she said, turning to leave the restaurant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Charlie sat on the bench outside the FBI office. This was the fear he had agreed to face, and it was the last thing he had to do before he could call Amy. Over the last week, he had talked to both Larry and his father more about the shooting. His dreams. His fear. He had talked to them more, he could honestly say that…just not a lot. But he tried to be more honest when they asked questions, more honest with himself when he sat on the couch at 3 in the morning and listened to satellite radio.

Which had only been once this week because of the dream. The other two times, it was because he was upset about his fight with Amita. He still didn't understand exactly what happened. With everyone so busy writing final exams, conducting extended office hours for students and prepping for the end of the semester, it hadn't been difficult for them to avoid each other since the interrupted lunch five days ago.

Larry knew something was up, though. He had actually let it go for two days before he mentioned it. "Is there a problem between you and Amita, Charles?"

They had been in Charlie's office, where the three of them traditionally met each morning before classes, shared a cup of tea, or coffee. Charlie looked at him. "Yes," he admitted, "but I honestly don't know what it is." He had spared Larry the details of the lunch, opting instead to look back down at the papers on his desk.

At least Larry hadn't been unreasonable about Amy. On the contrary, his friend seemed delighted, even suggesting a double date. "Ah! A shipboard romance! Charles, I look forward with great anticipation to meeting the young woman who could so quickly and thoroughly captivate you. Perhaps when the fervor of finals is over, the two of you would join Megan and I for an evening repast?" Charlie was pretty sure that meant dinner.

He shook his head to clear it. This wasn't going to help him deal with going inside that building. He took out his cell phone, flipped it open. Amy had assured him that he didn't have to go alone, and Megan had offered frequently enough…he sighed, put the phone back. If he was going to do this, he was going to do this.

He rose from the bench and walked tentatively toward the building. Since the shooting, security had been posted outside as well as inside, and he showed his ID to the officer, allowed him to run a wand over his body. Then he held the door open for him, and Charlie hesitated. The officer looked at him, silently questioning. Charlie tried to smile, stepped quickly inside, like jumping in the deep end of the pool.

He stopped just inside the door and felt the rush of air conditioning hit him, hoped it would stop the sweat he felt on his forehead. Ahead he could see Central Booking, and where the corridor split off, leading to the elevators in one direction, some smaller offices in the other. When it had happened, digital forensics, awaiting remodel, had been using space in one of the offices. That's where Charlie had been. He took a breath, started forward.

By the time he got to Central Booking, he knew two things. One was that Megan had been right a few weeks ago when she remarked on how different it all looked now. The other was that he should have called her and asked her to come down and get him. He could see now that the several small offices had been made into one large one. Just before he got to the spot where he would have to turn down that hallway, he suddenly veered off, went into the men's room right off the lobby.

He looked at his face in the mirror. Pale, still sweaty…he closed his eyes and saw black. "Men in black", like the movie, but these guys weren't wearing suits, they were wearing masks, turtlenecks, the arms covered in long sleeves blending into assault rifles so that it looked like the rifles were their hands…his eyes popped open and his breathing became ragged. He had never remembered that, before.

He whirled suddenly and tried to push into a stall, but it was locked. He barely got to the next one in time to lose his lunch, his breakfast, and last night's dinner. He was sure he saw parts of all of those in there, flushing after each one. He stayed in a leaning position for a while to make sure he was done, then straightened and slumped into the door, letting it support him.

"Dude. You okay in there?"

Charlie didn't recognize or anticipate the voice, and his heart beat wildly in response. He couldn't make himself answer.

"You want me to get someone?"

Charlie closed his eyes again. Yes. Yes. Get someone.

He opened them, cleared his throat. "I'm…I'm okay," he said, voice shaky. He coughed a little. "Thank you."

"You sure?"

Charlie let his head fall back, banging into the door. "Yes."

"Okay…" The voice sounded uncertain, but eventually he heard water running, then the sound of feet walking, the _whoosh _ of the hydraulic door opening and closing. He waited a few more seconds, opened the stall door cautiously. He appeared to be alone.

He went to a sink and washed his hands, cupped some water into his mouth to rinse with, splashed more over his face. Finally he reached for the towels. When he was done, he looked into the mirror again, squared his shoulders.

This time, he walked straight past Central Booking, to the new office that used to be three smaller ones. It was accounting, now, he could see by the plate on the door. North end. That had been digital forensics. He looked at the filing cabinets, and had no trouble remembering what it felt like to lean up against them, saw the green eyes from his dream again without even closing his own. A woman at a desk near the door looked at him curiously. "We've just remodeled," she said. "Can I help you find something?" He tried to smile, tried to speak, couldn't do either one, so he finally just shook his head and turned and walked the other way, past Central Booking again, this time to the elevators.

He leaned against the wall. He was not going upstairs until his heart rate was somewhere in the vicinity of that shared by most humans. If he was not careful, be would pass out. He didn't know how long he stayed there, lost count of the people who passed him…and Charlie never lost count of anything. At some length, his heart seemed to slow down, although it still beat with great force, as if it wanted out of his chest. He drew in another deep breath, felt it slow more. He straightened, noticed that he was getting sore, for some reason. He turned to face the elevator, and pushed the button.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don gathered the files from his desk. Merrick had decided to prioritize the case they'd picked up last night, and reassigned the one they were already working on. He headed across the bullpen to deliver what they had to Riddick and his team.

He was walking toward the elevator when it opened, and his eyes widened when he saw Charlie inside. He hadn't seen him since the day after their return from the cruise, but Charlie hadn't called to tell him he was coming…he would have met him in the lobby, or something. He quickened his pace. He hadn't seen his brother that pale since…since he was still leaning up against those filing cabinets, bleeding all over Colby.

The doors started to close again before Charlie moved to get out, and he ended up jumping out awkwardly, almost bumping into Don. Don was glad for the excuse to put a hand out to steady him. "Charlie! Are you okay?"

Charlie rearranged himself, shakily drew a hand through his hair. "I…" He stopped himself, remembered the new Charlie. "Been better." It was the best he could do.

"Why don't you grab a seat in the employee lounge, you look like you're about to fall over. I've got to deliver these files…or do you need some help?" The lounge was only a few feet away, closer than his desk — that's why he had suggested it, he wasn't sure Charlie would make it to his desk. His brother didn't answer him, just started walking…limping…toward the lounge.

Don quickly delivered the files and joined him there. Charlie was sipping a bottle of water. That meant he had enough wits about him to find some money and use the machine. Don relaxed a little and sat facing him at the table. "You should have told me you were coming. Or called from downstairs."

Charlie carefully placed the bottle on the table. "I almost did," he said. Admitted, "probably should have. That was hard. Even though it looks so different, now."

"You spent some time down there, then?"

Charlie nodded.

"How long?"

Charlie looked at his watch. "It was 4:15 when I came out of the bathroom…" He looked back at Don, seemed surprised. "Only 12 minutes? Seemed like a lot longer."

Don smiled at him. "I'm sure it did." He knew his brother pretty well. "You had to stop at the bathroom, to…"

"Throw up," Charlie confirmed. "Several times."

Don winced. "You're okay now, though?"

Charlie was calming down a little more with each sip of water, each word out of his mouth. "Yes."

"Hey. You've done it, now."

Charlie suddenly smiled. He could call Amy now.

"Do you want to come back, see everybody? Megan's been worried. Colby doesn't believe you went on a cruise. And David wants to ask you some stuff about Cal Sci, his niece is thinking of applying."

Charlie stood, grimacing a little as his body reminded him of what he'd just experienced. "I feel like I've had the flu," he shared. "Achy, tired, never want to see food again…" He led the way to the bullpen, thinking. When he called Amy, he wanted to be able to go right to her. Definitely wanted to feel better than yesterday's garbage. Maybe he'd better wait until tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Charlie groaned, rolled over, opened one eye and tried to focus on the clock on the desk next to the bed. Ten? In the morning? Had be been ill? He never slept until 10 in the morning, even on a Saturday, unless he was sick. His memory started to kick in gear. Or shot. Sometimes he slept late if he was shot. He smiled at the ridiculous thought, and suddenly remembered why he felt like he had been hit by a truck. Both eyes opened wide. Time to call Amy.

Groaning again at the movement, he leaned over to snag the cell off the desk, flipped it open. While he had refrained from calling her, like they agreed, he had programmed her number into the phone four days ago, assigned it a speed dial number. He hit the "send" button and forced himself to sit up on the edge of the bed.

"This number has been disconnected. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please hang up and dial again, or call your operator for further assistance."

What?

Maybe he had entered the number wrong? Charlie looked at the display. That was right, wasn't it? He didn't make errors with numbers very often…but maybe he had been distracted. He stood painfully and leaned over the desk, searching through the papers. There it was. The ship newsletter, where she had written her number in the margin. He compared it to the cell display. Definitely correct.

He scratched his head while he called directory assistance. There were listings for 7 Amy Martindales in L.A. County. Unbelieveable. He sat at the desk and scribbled down each number, then started dialing. He got answers at three — all the wrong Amys. Charlie placed the cell on the desk and started looking at it as if it were a snake. The clock caught his eye again and he sighed. He had to go to campus today, finish writing his final for Monday afternoon's class. He padded down the hall for a shower. .

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan plopped the meat into the roaster, began surrounding it with the vegetables he had just prepared. He heard a door open and turned, carrot still in his hand.

Don held up his hands. "Don't shoot."

Alan smiled, turned back to his task. "Morning, Donnie. I thought you'd be working every weekend for a year after taking four consecutive days off!"

Don wandered over to the counter. "Good. Enough for leftovers, roast beef sandwiches for a week." He handed his father the salt shaker, and Alan glared at him a little before he put it down.

"I did that already. Leave me alone. You've never complained about my roast beef, let me make it."

Don backed off, sat at the table. "I kind-of thought I'd be working today myself, so I didn't really make any plans. Is Charlie here?"

"Hasn't come down yet."

Don looked at his watch. "It's 10:45."

Alan finished and placed the pan in the oven, moved to the sink to wash his hands. He came to the table still drying them. "I know. He's still getting up at night and coming downstairs, so I thought I'd let him sleep."

Don frowned, and Alan hurried on. "Not as much, I don't think. The cruise was good for him." He sat down and held his oldest's gaze. "You haven't said much about this Amy."

Don was saved from answering when the door from the dining room swung open and Charlie joined them, cell phone to his ear. "I understand, thank you. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." He disconnected, sat at the table.

His father raised an eyebrow. Charlie was dressed as if he were going to school. "Good morning. You do understand that it's Saturday?"

Charlie smiled. "Good morning, Dad. And yes, I do. Finals are next week, remember?" He looked at Don. "Hey. Did we have plans?"

Don shrugged. "No, I just came by to see if I could talk anyone into anything. Kind-of at loose ends, today." He looked at Charlie carefully. He looked okay, a little distracted, but he always was during finals. "How are you after yesterday afternoon?"

"What happened yesterday afternoon?" Alan tensed. Usually when the boys kept secrets from him, it called for tension.

Charlie leaned back in the chair, yawned. "I went to Don's office."

Alan smiled. "Really? That's good news, son." He exchanged a look with Don. "How was it?"

Charlie stood back up and crossed to the refrigerator. "It will be easier next time," he said, peering inside. He shut the door without taking anything. "Do we have any potato chips?"

Alan looked at him disapprovingly, then sighed. "I guess it is closer to time for lunch than breakfast." His eyes brightened. "Let me turn the oven to low, and we'll all go to lunch. Then you can go to work, and Donnie and I will…" he looked at Don. "Catch an early matinee?"

Don pushed up from the table. "A plan. I love a plan." .

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie tried to force himself to concentrate on the final. One reason he wanted to come in on Saturday to do it was because the empty building usually made it easier, but today, all he could think about was Amy. He had connected with all seven Amy Martindales listed, now, and none of them were his Amy. Giving up, he saved the work on his lap top and started opening desk drawers, finally finding a phone book in one of them. He looked at the year. Fairly recent.

He turned to "day spas" in the yellow pages. Amy hadn't told him the name, just that it was in the city. He looked at the list. Apparently day spas had a lot of competition. He picked up the phone and started dialing.

He was lucky, this time. On the third call, he hit pay dirt.

"Adventure Spa, this is Michelle speaking. How can I help you this afternoon?"

"Michelle, I wonder if you could help me. I'm trying to locate a stylist named Amy Martindale, and I've forgotton the name of the spa…"

"Oh, yeah, Amy works here. Let me find her book…"

His heart rose as he listened to the rustling. Thankfully, Michelle held the phone away from her mouth before he heard her yell, "Kimbo! I can't find Amy's book!" Her voice came back more clearly. "I'm sorry, sir, I'll be right with…" She faded out again. "What? When?" She took on a sarcastic tone. "Thanks for letting me know. How am I supposed to schedule people when…" She became more formal again as she came back to Charlie. "I'm sorry, sir, I've just been informed that Amy Martindale no longer works here. I'm sure I can schedule you with one of our other stylists…"

His heart dropped again, a little further this time. "When…When did Amy leave?"

"I understand she notified the owner on Monday morning that she was quitting. What kind of services were you looking for?"

_Amy's_, thought Charlie. "I…I'm sorry, I'm going to have to get back to you. Thank you."

Charlie hung up, stood and started pacing the room. Phone disconnected. Job quit. What was going on? He had her address, she had given him that, too. He would drive by her apartment.

He grabbed his backpack and turned for the door of his office, only to see Amita standing there. He looked at her, surprised. He hadn't seen her since Tuesday, and he certainly didn't expect to see her today.

"I thought you might be here. I know you like to come and write your finals in solitude."

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

She took a step toward him. "I wanted to apologize. For lunch."

He shifted his backpack. "It's all right, Amita, I was probably out of line myself…but I still don't really know what happened, why you got so upset…"

She took another step, closing the distance between them. "I know. That's what's still so upsetting."

He looked at her, puzzled.

She blushed. "I can't believe I did this."

He was getting nervous. "What?"

"Mark. When he came here for the weekend, we both knew right away that it wasn't going to work, that one of us really wanted to be with someone else. I asked him to pretend, whenever Larry or your Dad was watching us."

Now he was confused. "I'm sorry…but why pretend?"

She took another step. She was right in front of him now, farther into his personal space than he usually allowed. He caught a faint scent of roses.

"I wanted them to tell you what they saw." Her voice was lower than usual, breathy. She was looking right into his eyes, and he couldn't look away. "I wanted to make you jealous." She moved even more, and he could actually feel her body against his, felt her breasts when she leaned, whispered into his ear. "One of us wants to be with you, Charlie."

And then she was kissing him, and he was responding, his backpack thudding to the floor, his brain screaming at him to stop, her hands screaming at him to go on. With effort, more strength than he knew he had, he broke off, stepped back, away from her. They were both breathing hard.

"I'm…I'm…" Charlie couldn't string words together. Charlie couldn't string thoughts together. What the hell was happening?

He was still backing off, and stumbled over his backpack, had to grab the corner of the desk. He saw the offending pack, remembered. He needed to find Amy. He grabbed the pack, looked again at Amita, thought that he might die where he stood. Finally, without another word from either of them, he brushed past her and left.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He tried to remember every word Amy had ever said to him, while he drove to her apartment. He thought about her smile, her incredible eyes. He tried very hard not to think about little red dots, because that made him think of what he's almost just done with Amita in his office, and he couldn't think about Amita right now…but all he could do was think of Amita right now, because he had let his mind say her name. _Stop_, he told his mind. _Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop…_

He missed the address once, had to turn around and go back "Palmaire Apartments". He parked on the street outside, looked for an office. Finally he just started wandering around the complex. He found Unit 17 so easily because the door was open, and he could hear something loud. He looked in.

Completely empty.

A woman he didn't know operated a carpet shampooer. As she turned a corner she saw him in the doorway and started, turned the machine off. "You hear to see the place? I ain't even advertised it, yet. Cleaning crew never showed up, decided to do it myself…how did you find out I had a vacancy?"

Charlie looked at her. He blinked. "No. No…I'm sorry…I thought Amy…"

She sniffed. "That one's gone. She's the reason we have to charge huge deposits, first and last month's rent…. No notice, packed up and out faster than I could finish my breakfast Monday morning." She looked him up and down. "Sure you don't need a place?"

He backed away, shaking his head.

He didn't remember walking to his car, getting in. He just found himself behind the wheel, listening to the blood rush through his head, feeling his heart pound like it had yesterday, watching his hands shake. He didn't know how long he sat there, but it had to be a while, because by the time he figured out he was just a few miles from Don's apartment it was dark. He drew in a breath, started the engine.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He had enjoyed the matinee, spending time with his father. Unexpected respite. He had taken Alan home and joined him for an early dinner, relishing the roast. Now he walked into the bathroom, grabbed the towels off the rod and threw them into the basket. He couldn't believe he was spending Saturday night doing his laundry. Don definitely had to get a life.

He looked up at the sound of the doorbell. Perhaps life was finding him tonight.

When he opened the door and saw Charlie's face, his heart dropped. "What is it?"

His brother pushed into the apartment. "You've got to help me. I can't find Amy. Her phone is disconnected, she quit her job, her apartment is empty…"

Shit. So he had to deal with this, now. What was he going to say? He stalled. "Come in, sit down. What happened?"

Charlie only got as far as pacing in the kitchen. "I just told you. Phone, job, apartment. I don't know where she is."

Don spoke gently. "Charlie, maybe you didn't know her as well as you thought."

He stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. "I can see that, now, thank you, Don." He took a breath. "I still have to see her. I need to talk to her. I need to figure it out, because now…now…" Charlie clamped his mouth shut. How could he be thinking of Amita at a time like this?

"What?"

He could feel his breathing speed up, his lunch swirling. He looked desperately at Don. "Can you help me find her? Is there something you can do?"

Don hated this. He hated this. Why couldn't Charlie catch a break? Shot, terrorized, in love and left, all in the last two months. "Maybe…" he started, not even knowing how he was going to finish, but Charlie stopped him.

"I'm going to be sick," he said, and he rushed out of the kitchen, down the hall to the bathroom. He didn't quite make it, ended up with some on his shirt. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and waited until he felt less wobbly. Why did everything make him sick?

He stood and took off his shirt, tried to clean up. When he opened the door he couldn't see Don. He must have moved into the living room. Charlie stepped down to the bedroom and flipped on a light, found a t-shirt in the dresser.

He heard his brother call. "Charlie?"

"Coming," he answered, and reached for the switch to kill the light as he was leaving the room. On the wall above the switch, at eye level, hung a photograph Charlie had seen before — Don's graduating class at Quantico, and he looked at it absently as he passed.

Halfway down the hall he turned and walked back to look at it again.

He was still standing there when he felt Don beside him. He raised a shaky finger to the photo, pointed to the second row. "Is that Lisa? Amy's friend?"

Don squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again. "Yes."

Charlie looked at him. "She's an agent?"

Don nodded.

A light started in the darkness of Charlie's head. "You recognized her on the ship. That's why you wanted to talk to her alone, that's why you sent Amy and I away after breakfast."

"Come into the living room. Let's talk."

"What office does she work with? I've never seen her at your office."

Don didn't want to tell him this standing here, but Charlie wasn't moving. Finally, he said it. "Witness Protection. She's with Witness Protection."

The light in the darkness was growing brighter. "And suddenly, Amy doesn't exist, anymore."

Don grimaced. "It's a voluntary program, Charlie. It's not like she was kidnapped. I can tell you what Lisa…"

Charlie suddenly put his hand on Don. He clutched his jaw, forcing him to stop talking.

"Not. One. Word."

He was advancing on Don without realizing it, and Don's instincts took over. He stepped back out of Charlie's grasp while using his own hands to shove Charlie up against the wall. The photograph tilted. The world tilted, and Don came to his senses, quickly let go. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." He tried to make a joke. "Too much on-the-job training."

Charlie pushed himself away from the wall, jerked back when Don tried to take his arm. "Come on. Come out into the living room. We can talk." His heart nearly squeezed in half when Charlie raised his head and he saw the look on his face.

"Not. One. Word."

Charlie pushed past him, and he heard the front door open, and then slam.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Charlie was much too everything to be driving. Too shocked. Too angry. Too confused. Too terrified. Even he knew that, and as much as he wanted to get away from Don as fast as possible, he forced himself to be still behind the wheel. He focused on breathing.

"You should lock your car doors." Don slid in the passenger seat and waited to see if Charlie would get out, but his brother didn't move. His hands were gripping the steering wheel.

"All right, Charlie. When I saw Agent Wilkerson on the ship, it didn't take me long to get the story. And as soon as I made her, WP was notified; they moved Amy ahead of schedule…but she's been in the program over three years, Charlie, and is at extremely high risk. She's been moved every few months over that time. She always knew that she couldn't be with you long. I'm not going to be sorry that I didn't — and I don't — want to see you put at risk for something you can't have anyway. Being with her would put a target on your back, and on Dad's back, on Larry's and Amita's…on all the people in your life."

He waited for some indication Charlie was hearing him, got none.

Don sat in silence for a moment, and then started again.

"When I turned the corner into digital forensics, and saw you on the floor, bleeding all over, unconscious…G-d, Charlie. Think about it. How would you have felt, if was me? You're not the only one still having nightmares. Then you won't wake up from surgery, and every time I look at you I see terror…you can't even come to the FBI office again until yesterday…" He steeled his voice, spoke louder than necessary. "I will not be sorry that I don't want to see you as somebody's target, again."

He lowered his voice again. "Not that I could have done anything about it, anyway. It was WP's call. I only knew 20 hours before you did, and I wasn't sure what she would do. She's testified in all the cases she's going to, she can't be forced to stay in the program. It's not unheard of for people to want out."

Charlie let go of the steering wheel, but still didn't say anything. His head was bent, and the long curls and the darkness blocked Don's view of his face.

Don just had one more thing to say.

"Do you think it would have been easier for her to just disappear, four months down the road?"

Charlie lifted his head, brought a hand to the corner of one eye.

"Wh…" He tried to speak, only got out a croak. He cleared his throat. "Why didn't she tell me? Ask me to go in Witness Protection with her, or something?"

Don sighed. "She's been living a long time with this. Knowing that literally dozens of powerful people, and all their connections, want her dead. They almost got her at the beginning…she's lost a lot. As great as it was on the ship, Charlie, as much as she wanted to…I'm not surprised she couldn't make herself totally trust someone in two days."

Charlie brushed at his eye again. Don's knew that the heart was only a muscle that pumped blood, but his own chest was heavy as he looked at him.

"I said I'm not sorry, but that's not entirely true."

Charlie finally looked at him.

"I am sorry that you have to go through this, I wish there was some way I could make it better. I'm still the guy who has a brother, the guy who sat up with that brother all night on a ship balcony, the guy who would do that a million more times…"

Charlie looked away, and they were silent again. Time dragged on. Finally, he spoke.

"If I'm angry at you, I don't have to feel anything else."

"Well if that helps, Buddy, be angry. I can take it. But I think all those other feelings are just going to be waiting for you when you're finished being angry with me."

Charlie lowered his head to the steering wheel, banged it once. "aaisme", he mumbled.

"What?"

Charlie raised his head again, but didn't look at Don. "I said, Amita kissed me."

"_What?_ When?"

"This afternoon, she came to campus and found me in my office. She said it's over with Mark, because she wants to be with me. Then she kissed me."

Don knew his mouth was hanging open, and was glad the car was dark. Great. Charlie's life wasn't complicated enough already.

"What are…How…How do you feel about that?"

Charlie turned his head. "You're kidding, right? I'm not even sure what my own name is, anymore."

That sat in silence again, until Don saw Charlie shiver.

"Come back upstairs."

Charlie leaned forward and put the keys in the ignition. "I have to go back to Cal Sci. I never finished writing that final."

"It's late. Get some sleep first, go in the morning."

Charlie actually laughed, a short, bitter, snort of a laugh. "Sleep. Right." He started the car.

Don put his hand on the handle of the passenger door. "Charlie…", he began but his brother stopped him.

"I'm okay to drive, now. Don't worry."

Don opened the door to step out and Charlie looked at him in the dome light. "Don."

He leaned back in the door. "Yeah, Charlie?"

Charlie shrugged, offered a half smile. "Thanks. For coming after me."

Don smiled sadly back. "I always will, Buddy. I always will."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

As soon as he came through the office door, Charlie veered to the shelf were his small stereo sat, jerked the headphones out of it. It was midnight, and he was cranking this baby up. He sorted quickly through the CDs, picked one. He picked up the remote and carried it to the desk, and settled in at his lap top.

He couldn't wait to get back to numbers. He loved numbers. Numbers were predictable. Numbers did what they were supposed to do. Numbers meant what they meant, and nothing else.

By the end of Led Zepplin he had finished the final, e-mailed it to the department secretary so that she could get it copied Monday morning. He walked to the stereo to change the CD, then back to his desk. By the end of CCR, he had methodically cleaned off the top, finishing reports, reading over two thesis proposals by graduate students determined to get a jump on the next semester, throwing away sticky notes about lunches eaten two months ago. He thought about tackling the drawers, but his mind was starting to wander away from numbers, so he changed the music again and hit the whiteboard. AC/DC took him into cognitive emergence, and his dry erase marker flew. He alternated between the board and the lap top, transposing what he worked out on the board into his existing data. He didn't even notice when the music ended, when the sun began to shine through the window. Didn't remember stopping, just knew suddenly that he was sitting at his desk, remembering something slightly vanilla on Amita's lips, and the numbers were gone. .

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

She was afraid to answer the door. She had almost hidden her car on another block, so it would look like she wasn't home, but she hadn't wanted to leave the safety of the apartment.

How could a woman who had won prestigious awards for the paper she had written in pursuit of her first doctorate, a woman who was even then going after a second doctorate, a woman whose entire life had revolved around knowledge and expanding her mind as far as she could, how could that woman be huddled on the floor in the corner of her living room, unable to think about anything but what an idiot she was?

And for at least the last five minutes, someone had been knocking at the door.

"I know that you're in there. Probably sitting on the floor, squeezed into that little corner."

She heard Charlie's voice, buried her face in her hands.

"You can answer the door. Or I can scream this all on the porch."

He wouldn't.

"Amita." There was something indescribably sad about the way he said her name.

"Okay. About the kiss, yesterday…"

She hurtled herself out of the corner and sped across the room. Yanked the door open. He stopped talking. They stared at each other, and she felt herself blush.

"I am so sorry. I am such an idiot." She started to cry. Now she was even a bigger idiot.

He didn't come in, just stood there on the porch. But at least he lowered his voice.

"You're not an idiot. You're the most intelligent person I've ever known. You make every conversation more interesting, broader.…Amy…Amy…there is no Amy, anymore."

She looked at him.

"You were right, I didn't really know her. Not the way I know you."

She whispered. "Then come inside."

He shook his head. "You need to know that I would have gone on, with her. Amy left me, I didn't have anything to do with it. And…And…the one thing I would never survive would be seeing you question that, someday. Eventually, you would wonder if the only reason I was with you, was because it didn't work out with her."

She tilted her head, thought. "Most of us are with the people we're with because somewhere, something didn't work out. The romantic notion is that the first relationship didn't work because the second one was destined to be experienced, but I don't really believe that. You're a man in your early 30s, Charlie, I would hope that something didn't work out, somewhere…"

He was silent.

She was insistent. "We tried dating a few months ago. It didn't work out, then. That's why you were with Amy, isn't it?"

"That's too simple."

"Love is never simple, Charlie."

He actually took a step back at the word. "I wish I could not know anything that I've learned in the last two months. I wish I could not know anything."

She felt guilty. Had she helped reduce one of the world's greatest thinkers into someone who didn't want to think? No.

"It's not that you don't want to think, Charlie. You don't want to feel."

He stared at her, then took more than a step backward. He pivoted on the porch, limped quickly to his car, and drove away.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan looked up from his book at the sound of Charlie's car in the driveway. He looked at his watch. Six o'clock. He hadn't seen him, hadn't even heard from him, since they'd all gone out to lunch yesterday. It was a fine line he trod, living with an adult son. It was none of his business what Charlie chose to do, or who he chose to do it with, but he worried. He thought he would worry even if he were not related to his "roommate". At what point do you report someone missing? It was only common courtesy he asked for.

He stood as he heard the kitchen door open and started talking on the way.

"Charlie, I thought we agreed to show each other a little respect. I don't want to dictate your life, I'd just like to know you're all right. Is it too much to ask for a simple phone…" He stopped as the kitchen door swung open and he saw his son. It didn't look like he's been enthralled in a reunion with Amy for the last day-and-a-half.

"What's wrong?"

Charlie unceremoniously dropped his backpack on the floor of the dining room, crossed to the stairs and started toward his room. "Tired."

Alan watched him. "Have you been working all this time?"

"No. Mostly. Going to bed."

Not speaking in full sentences. That was never good. Alan called up the stairs.

"Do you want something to eat, first? I could heat something up while you take a shower…"

Charlie's bedroom door clicked shut before he was even finished. .

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_The eyes were back, but it was different, this time. Carolyn Trimble's body wasn't on the floor, anymore, she was leaning against a wall, watching him…she must be watching him, even though her eyes were still vacant, never blinked…but she was keeping up a running commentary._

"_You really should have just come with me," she said. _

_He was standing in a box, and Amita and Amy stood at the only open side. He couldn't find a way out without pushing one of them out of the way. _

"_I didn't want to," he answered._

"_You've done everything wrong anyway," Carolyn said. "You could come, now."_

_He risked looking at Amy. She didn't have any ears, so he couldn't make her hear him. She looked sad. All she did was shake her head at him, the red hair making his scar tickle even though it was nowhere near his leg._

"_I just want out of this box," he said. "I don't want to go with you."_

"_Yes you do," she whispered._

"_No!" he cried, and looked at Amita. She looked sad, too, although he didn't really know how he knew that, since she had no eyes._

"_What happened?", he asked everyone._

_Carolyn was the only one who answered. She began to slide across the floor toward him without moving her legs. _

"_I think you need to come with me."_

_He started to panic. "No, I don't want to. No!" He felt her touch him on the shoulder, even though she wasn't moving her arms, either._

"_Come on, Charlie."_

_He tried to pull back. "No! I said No!"_

_The shaking increased. "Charlie…Charlie…come on, wake up. It's Dad. Wake up."_

_All the women shattered, and Charlie screamed._ .

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan was just going to bed himself when he heard the all-too-familiar sounds of a nightmare coming from Charlie's room. He opened the door cautiously, heard a strangled "No! I said No!"

He approached the bed, sat on the edge and tried to wake his son up.

"Come on, son, wake up. It's Dad."

Charlie scared the life out of him when he screamed, bolted upright in the bed. He stared at his father, breathing ragged.

Alan took his hand off Charlie's shoulder and used it to brush back a curl. "You awake now, son?"

Charlie closed his eyes, took a shuddering breath, nodded.

Alan took his hand away and leaned in, carefully folded Charlie into his arms.

"It's all right, now," he soothed quietly, "just relax…"

He felt Charlie lean into him, felt the shudders continue.

Alan closed his own eyes, and held on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Larry stood uncertainly in the doorway to Charlie's office. He didn't remember ever seeing the desk so clean, before. The whiteboard was a jumble of numbers…he studied them. It looked like data for the cognitive emergence theory. Most disconcerting, his friend sat pale and still in the chair — not doing anything at all. Hadn't it only been a week since he came back so rested from the cruise?

"Charles," he began uncertainly. "Are you all right? You don't look as if you've slept at all since I said goodbye to you Friday afternoon."

Charlie looked at him and blinked. "Close."

"Are the nightmares you told me of still persisting?"

"I…don't want to talk about this, Larry."

Larry frowned. "But Charles, it seemed to be so helpful to you once you began talking."

Charlie looked at his friend again, appeared to be thinking. "I've known you 15 years."

Larry smiled fondly. "Yes. One of my favorite students, become one of my treasured colleagues."

"What happened to Laurel?"

Larry was surprised at the question. "Not a thing, Charles…at least nothing has come to my attention. I believe she is still teaching at UCLA…why?"

"You never married her."

Larry felt himself blush a little. "Not every relationship ends in marriage, Charles, you know that." He had a thought. "Are you considering wedding your Amy?"

Charlie winced, tried to refocus the conversation. "What about Megan?"

Larry clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Charles, you must be aware of the fact that your relationship with Amy has been unusual. It's not the norm of a developing commitment. Megan and I have had far too little time together to even begin such a discussion."

"Why have you been so accepting of my 'unusual' relationship?"

Larry started chewing on a fingernail, then raised one hand to his head. Finally he sighed a little and started speaking. "It has been quite distressing, since you were injured. You have seemed so unhappy. Although I continued to harbor certain…hopes…for you and Amita, I felt I needed to meet someone who could so positively affect you."

Charlie held his gaze. "You met Mark. Amita has moved on."

"As I said, he seemed quite attentive to her…but in no way her equal. I believe Amita to be a woman who must be intellectually fulfilled, as well as physically attracted." He stopped himself. "I claim no authority, of course. I'm sure my hopes can be attributed to my fondness for you both. It influences how I see you when you are together."

Charlie didn't answer and Larry began to chew his fingernail again. .

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan had managed to sooth Charlie to sleep again on Sunday night, just to hear the familiar creak of the stairs a few hours later. There must have been another one. Charlie's finals week schedule always included long hours, but his son was haunting the garage during the time he was home. Some nights, Alan was asleep before he heard him come upstairs — if he came upstairs. He was gone in the mornings before Alan rose for breakfast.

Wednesday morning he felt the emptiness of the house again, even though it was only 5 a.m. He was unable to sleep himself, and he walked to his bedroom window to check the weather. He was surprised to see Charlie sitting in the back yard, cross-legged on the dew-damp grass, next to the koi pond. He watched Charlie watch the fish, then turned away from the window, threw on some clothes. He had joined his son within five minutes.

"Charlie…what's wrong? Did something happen with Amy?"

Charlie looked up, startled. "Dad. It's early. You should be in bed."

"As should you."

Charlie looked back at the water. "Amy's gone. Long story."

Alan was surprised, a little confused. How long could the story be?

Suddenly Charlie asked him a question that startled him even more.

"Do you think someone can love two people at the same time?"

Alan was nonplussed. "I…uh…I…. That's not a simple question, Charlie."

"I know."

Alan sat on the bench behind Charlie. "There are all kinds of love. Friendship. Sibling. Parental. Romantic. I think there are many different levels of all those. We all love more than one person at a time, if we're lucky. But you probably mean specifically romantic?"

Charlie nodded without turning his head to face Alan.

"Sometimes, there are choices to be made. We measure those choices by first defining what it is that we want. What do you want Charlie? Design the perfect mate."

Charlie was silent for so long that Alan finally prodded him. "Out loud. Let me hear it."

"Smart. Intellectually, of course — I need someone who can keep up with me — but also someone smart enough to recognize when I'm in danger of getting lost in my own head, and brave enough to call me on it."

"What else?"

"Fearless. Well, maybe not so much 'fearless' as just…strength. Let's face it, things are going to happen, and I'm going to have enough nightmares for both of us."

Alan chuckled. "That may become less true, when you are with this woman. You may find strength in each other."

Charlie nodded again. "That's good. I like that."

"More?"

"There should be a physical attraction."

"Of course."

"And honesty. I have to be able to trust that she will always tell me the truth — even if it's going to be hard for both of us." Charlie was getting into this, now. He stood up and joined his father on the bench. "Dependable, responsible — but not boring. A little unpredictable, too. Definitely someone who would raise happy children."

Alan smiled. "Glad to hear that one."

Charlie smiled back. "She would have to love my family. Not just put up with them."

"Glad to hear that one, too."

"Generosity is important. I don't want our lives to just be all about us."

Alan nodded.

"Someone who would look at me differently than other people do. Someone I could see, every morning for the rest of my life, and never tire of the view…just see more colors on the landscape."

Alan thought of Margaret. He had enjoyed that with her. He very much wished the same for his sons. He remembered for the first time in a long time what it was like to wake up beside Margaret, felt the pressure build behind his eyes.

"Dad?" Charlie's voice was apprehensive. "Did I say something wrong?"

Alan smiled, shook his head. He cleared his throat to make sure his voice was steady before he spoke again.

"That sounds like a good start. Now, you just need to determine who can offer you those things…and maybe a little mystery, too. So there's more to discover later."

"Amy fit some of that, right away. But I never got to know her well enough to know how much."

"Don't let that stop you from measuring other women against the same standards. You can grieve forever for someone who may not have been what you really wanted in the first place. A romantic notion. Important, during that moment in your life. But important enough to share all the moments of your life?"

Charlie's eyes widened and when he looked at Alan, he saw a dawning, tinged with fear, in those eyes.

"Oh my God," his son said. "I've been describing Amita."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Don tried to at least talk to Charlie every day that week. Even lunch in one of their offices was impossible; he knew about finals week. Ordinarily, he would have asked for Charlie's help on the case they were working. It made him crazy to have to wait for the FBI's own in-house experts to analyze something he knew Charlie could do in less than half the time. But finals week always demanded respect. Not that Charlie wouldn't help, if Don asked. Charlie would find a way to put 25 hours in the day, if Don asked.

Some days, between Charlie's schedule and Don's, they didn't even connect by phone. Tuesday and Thursday had been like that. Voice mail tag. Don was still worried about Charlie, but he let himself feel a little relief when he remembered Wednesday evening's conversation.

"_This is Dr. Eppes." The fact that Charlie was too busy to check his caller ID display could not be a good sign._

"_Hey. It's me."_

_He heard a smile in Charlie's voice. "Hey, Donnie."_

_Don heard a familiar squeak. "Where are you?"_

"_Office." Another squeak. "Working on something."_

_Don checked the time. "Charlie, it's almost 11. Haven't you gone home, yet?" _

"_That won't work…", his brother mumbled, and he heard another squeak._

"_Charlie!"_

"_What?"_

"_I asked if you'd been home yet."_

"_Oh, oh…sorry. This step is extremely elusive…no, not home…" Charlie kept talking over Don's exasperation. "But I went to dinner. I was away from campus all evening, actually. Well, until 10."_

"_Are you working on your cognitive thing?"_

"_Yes."_

"_During finals week?"_

_Charlie sighed this time. "Just a little. It helps if I concentrate on numbers."_

"_Charlie…" Don's voice took on a warning tone._

"_Don't worry," Charlie assured him. "I'm not into P vs. NP."_

"_Maybe your theory is becoming a new P vs. NP."_

_Charlie was silent for a moment. Don heard the wheels of a chair roll across the floor. _

"_No. For one, this is not unsolvable. I'm actually making progress. I'm ahead of my own projected schedule. Another thing, this is the first time since Sunday I have worked on it. I just have some extra energy to expend tonight."_

"_So why aren't you doing this at home?"_

"_As I said, I did some work Sunday; it was on the board here, and I wanted to continue…" Don heard Charlie yawn. "Although now that you've made me sit down, I regret that I still have to drive home."_

_Don smiled. "Don't sleep in your office again. That really freaked Dad out."_

_Charlie chuckled. "I won't." He yawned again. "Thanks for calling, Don. I need to go now, or I'll never make it seven miles."_

_Don felt a twinge of concern. "You're not going to fall asleep at the wheel, are you? Maybe you should call a cab, or I could come get you…"_

_He heard the wheels of the chair again. "I'll be fine. When I get outside and the cool air hits me, it will wake me up enough to drive home."_

_Don pursued the subject. "If it doesn't, you promise me. You'll call a cab, or me, or something. Promise me, Charlie."_

_He heard the smile in Charlie's voice, and reveled both in the lack of tension and the words. _

"_You know Donnie, I love you too. I promise."_

He smiled again remembering that. No one had called to tell him that Charlie was in an accident, so he must have gotten home ok, even though Thursday involved more voice mail tag.

He looked up at the clock in the bullpen. Almost 5. It was Friday, maybe Charlie would be at the house for dinner, tonight. Even if he wasn't, Don decided to go. He hadn't seen his father since last week's matinee, and tomorrow night, Don actually had a date. He would never do laundry on a Saturday night again. Or maybe he would…he had met this woman in the building's laundry room.

He pulled out his cell, grimaced. Voice mail from Charlie. He must have called this afternoon while he was in the interrogation room with a suspect. He put the phone to his ear.

"_Don, I just wanted to tell you that I'm going out of town for the weekend. I know we just got back two weeks ago, but it's been a hell of a two weeks…anyway, I'll tell you when I get back Sunday afternoon. I had to leave Dad voice mail, also, he forgot to take his phone with him again." He laughed. "I left a message on the house phone, too, in case he forgets to check his cell. Um…could you please not call, for a couple of days? Unless it's an emergency…I just…I just want some time. One more thing. Pick me up at the airport? United baggage claim, should be there by six Sunday afternoon. If you're not there I can grab a cab, so don't worry. Have some fun this weekend, Don. See you soon."_

He flipped shut the cell. Charlie didn't sound particularly upset. On the contrary, he was speaking in that million-mile-an-hour excited voice half the time. The kid needed some time, it _ had_ been a hell of a two weeks. Don looked at the clock again, stood and grabbed his jacket. He, on the other hand…he needed some dinner. Maybe he could talk his Dad into going out on the town, tonight.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don circled the pick-up terminal a couple of times, just in case Charlie was waiting outside, then gave up and found a place in short-term parking. Once inside, he wished Charlie had been a little more specific. Which United baggage claim carousel? Where did the flight originate?

He started methodically checking all the carousels, finally spotting his brother. He was standing with his backpack over his shoulder, arms crossed. Several pieces of wheeled luggage was so close that it must be his, but it confused Don. Charlie hadn't taken that much stuff on the cruise…and this was definitely not his luggage.

"Hey," he said as he reached him, and Charlie scared him to death when he launched himself at Don, hugging him like it had been years since they'd seen each other. The embrace was warm, long. Eventually Don started laughing, still held in his brother's arms. Finally Charlie let go.

"You must have had a good weekend." Charlie looked relaxed, like he had on the ship. Lines of fatigue from finals week lingered, but he looked good. Don was happy to see that.

Charlie stepped back and laughed. "I did." He looked Don in the eye. He startled him again, saying, "Thank you so much. You are the best brother." Suddenly he was hugging Don, again.

He didn't think he and Charlie had touched this much in their lives. As he let the warmth spread pleasantly through his body, relaxing him when he didn't even know he'd needed relaxing, he wondered why.

They finally separated again. Don smiled, shook his head a little. He indicated the luggage. "Is this yours? Ready to go?"

"Just a minute. She went to the ladies', she'll be right back."

Don immediately tensed again. She? What had Charlie done? Where had he gone? He was a freakin' genius, he must have found a way to locate Amy and bring her back here. How could he have not seen that coming?

Charlie was looking over his shoulder, smiling brightly at someone. "The luggage is hers," he said conversationally.

Don turned to follow his gaze and was surprised yet a third time when he saw Amita coming toward them, waving. He felt Charlie clap him on the shoulder, and heard him speak again, and understood that he hadn't known what surprised meant.

"The luggage belongs to my wife."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**A/N: Just for the record, I don't do Amita. I prefer killing Amita. But the fans have spoken, and this is for you. Just a tiny epilogue to follow.**


	9. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Alan dropped the casserole he had been taking out of the oven, and chicken tettrazzini lay mostly in a lump at his feet. Some noodles clung to Charlie's shoes, he noted. He looked up from them to his youngest's face. His eyes traveled to Amita, smiling next to Charlie.

"You did what?" He looked desperately at Don. "They did what?"

Charlie took a step forward, skidded a little in the pasta and clutched at his father's shoulder, then continued to wrap his arms around him and grace him with one of the greetings Don had received at the airport.

"I married her," he whispered into Alan's ear, still hugging him. "She married me."

Alan pushed Charlie back. "In Vegas? At one of those dumpy chapels?"

Charlie laughed. "In Vegas, yes, but not in one of those dumpy chapels. City Hall. Marriage division is open 7 days a week,"

"But…But…I could have planned such a nice wedding…"

"We're counting on you doing a reception, Dad. Sometime this summer. After we coordinate with Amita's parents, about when they can come from India."

Alan suddenly couldn't stop smiling. "Amita, daughter, come here," he said, and she fell willingly into his embrace.

"Alan," she said to him seriously as they broke, "part of the life Charlie promised me was that you would stay here in the house with us. In India, it's unheard of for the generations to live apart unless they have to. I would so treasure it if you would stay."

"Absolutely," Charlie added. "It's one of the first things we talked about. We both want you here."

"It will be crowded," Alan began.

"No, no," Charlie assured him. "We'll do some remodeling, maybe. It will be perfect." He looked at Don across the table. "We want you to know you're as welcome as ever, too. Whenever you fall asleep watching the game with Dad, after dinner. We don't want any of that to change. We're just…adding a new dimension."

Don looked at his father, who was embracing Amita again, tears squeezing out his closed eyes. He looked back at Charlie. He couldn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded and smiled, turned to get the broom and dustpan. He cleaned up for awhile before he took a chance on his voice.

"So I guess this was dinner."

Alan leaned to help him, laughing. "I think we can do better than that, tonight. We'll find somewhere to go celebrate." They stood together and Don took the dustpan from his father, dumped the chicken and pasta in the trash can. He looked at Alan when he turned back, saw Charlie and Amita in the background, sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, holding hands.

"This is…unbelievable," he said quietly.

Alan hugged him briefly. "Believe it. Enjoy it. It can happen." He looked Don in the eye. "It will happen. For you. If you let it." He turned and looked at Charlie and his new daughter, laughed a little when he turned back to Don. "I just never thought _Charlie_ would be the one who taught _you_ how to jump off a cliff."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**FINIS**


End file.
